


what we played

by magictodestroy



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Angst, Childhood Trauma, Drug Use, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Gen, Horror, Trauma, currently dumping my own childhood trauma into fiction, dysfunctional family dynamics, this is going to be dark, traumatised children, well some of it
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-12
Updated: 2018-01-10
Packaged: 2019-02-01 09:44:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,294
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12702300
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/magictodestroy/pseuds/magictodestroy
Summary: Elrond and Elros must learn to live with their captors. Maedhros is empty, and Maglor is haunted.





	1. Chapter 1

Elrond’s skin is cold. Maglor holds his hands. They are pale and thin.

Maglor says, ‘what are you thinking?’

Elrond watches the water rise and fall against the rocky coast. The wind whips his black hair across his face. He looks up at Maglor, his lips slightly parted.

‘Ah,’ he says, and he cannot say anything more.

Maglor lifts him. He is small enough to easily hold with one arm. He leans against Maglor, hand in a fist against his chest.

‘We should go in maybe,’ Maglor says.

Elrond shrugs. He looks out at the water. It glitters in the sunlight coming through from between dark billowing clouds.

‘It is going to snow,’ he says.

Maglor watches the clouds. They are gathering, knitting together in the lilac sky.

‘It is going to snow,’ Elrond says again.

His voice is too solemn and still for a child his age, Maglor thinks. It always has been. He lifts his hand to run it over Elrond’s silky hair. It falls already to his waist, and Elrond will not let it be cut. He has sea grey eyes, and there is something broken in them.

Maglor kisses his cheek. His skin is cool to the touch. He stares at Maglor. He does not speak.

‘Are you cold?’ Maglor says. ‘We could go inside. And we’ll sit by the fire?’

‘What if it hurts us?’ Elrond says. ‘What if it burns?’

Maglor shifts him in his arms. His cloak ripples around his body. He puts Elrond under it.

‘It won’t burn if you don’t sit too close.’

‘I want to sit too close,’ Elrond says. He looks down, and his lashes are spotted with tears.

‘Are you crying?’ Maglor says.

Elrond looks up again, eyes dark and wet.

‘The wind is so fast.’

‘We’ll go inside.’

Maglor carries him inside. He brings him to Elros who is sitting already by the fire. He is dressed in scarlet. He has gold in his hair. Maglor sets Elrond down beside him and Elrond climbs onto his brother’s lap.

Elros holds him. He runs his hand across the top of his head and down along his back over his hair.

‘You were crying,’ he says softly, and Elrond shakes his head and presses his face against his shoulder.

Maglor watches them. He wants to say something, but there is nothing he can say. There never is. He touches Elros’s head, and Elros smiles at him.

He thinks about the malleability of children. He thinks he should leave. They are so used to being alone.

Elros strokes Elrond’s arm. Elrond is dressed in white, and the fabric glows orange in the firelight. It takes on the red of Elros’s clothes. It is dark grey in the creases.

‘It is going to snow,’ Elrond says.

‘I thought it was going to rain,’ says Elros.

‘No, it will snow. And it will be for a long time.’

Elros pushes Elrond off him and lies down on the rug on his stomach. He plays with his marbles, knocking them together, holding them up to watch the glass in the light.

‘Everyone likes pretty things,’ he says.

Maglor’s stomach turns. He still does not know what to say to them. These children do not act like children.

Elrond lies on his back and looks at the wooden beams on the ceiling above him.

‘If I scream, no one will come,’ he says. He looks at Maglor. ‘That’s right, isn’t it?’

Maglor shrugs. ‘Someone might come.’

‘No one will come.’

Elrond screams. It is high and shrill and horrible. It breaks towards the end, sounding strangled in his throat. He coughs and sits up, choking. He puts his hand over his throat.

No one comes.

Maglor picks up a marble. He turns it over in his hand.

Elrond lies back down. He looks at Maglor.

‘No one came,’ Maglor says. ‘You were right. You’re always right. It’s going to snow.’

Elrond closes his eyes.

Elros throws a marble into the fire.

‘It was ugly,’ he says when Maglor looks at him.

Maglor pulls him onto his lap and holds him fast. Elros stays still. Every once in awhile he looks up and smiles. His teeth glow in the firelight. His grey eyes have sparks of red.

Maglor smiles back, but Elros’s smile is fixed. His eyes are glazed over.

Elrond rolls onto his stomach and watches the marble in the fire.

Maglor worries that he’ll stick his hand in to fish it out. He takes him by the ankle and pulls him towards him gently until he’s close enough to pull up and hold against Elros in his arms.

‘I’m always worried that I’ll be too cold, and I don’t know why,’ Elros says.

Maglor kisses the top of his head.

‘I sometimes think I burned to death,’ Elrond says. ‘But then I remember I’m alive, and this is the first time I have been.’

Maglor shudders. The shadows of the room grow longer and wrap around the furniture and the children he is holding. The fire pops and sparks fan up towards the chimney.

‘We’ll study tonight,’ Maglor says.

Elrond nods. He cranes his neck back to look at Maglor’s face.

‘What are you afraid of?’

Maglor puts them both down. ‘We’ll study tonight.’ He leaves them together.

* * *

 

Maedhros is on the rocks dangerously close to the water. The wind has picked up, heralding the coming storm. The ocean is agitated, crashing up onto the rocks, leaving them wet and slippery.

Maglor comes up behind Maedhros.

‘Brother,’ he says.

Maedhros turns. His hair is tangled over his face, leaving only patches of scarred skin visible. Maglor can only see one eye, sunken and permanently bruised.

Everything about Maedhros is hollow.

Maedhros does not answer. He stands and watches.

Maglor goes to him. The first flakes of snow spiral down from the low clouds. They whip at his skin.

Maglor takes his hand. ‘Why are they haunted?’

Maedhros stares at him.

‘I have never seen you more afraid than you are of those children.’

‘Why are they haunted?’ And Maglor can hear his voice break before he realises he’s crying.

‘You are haunted.’

Maglor shakes his head. ‘I am not. I am not.’ His tears are hot and salty and burn his chapped lips.

Maedhros takes his hand and leads him away from the water’s edge.

‘It is going to be a blizzard,’ he says and sits Maglor down on the rocks. He sits beside him and drags his hand through his hair again and again. He dries his eyes with steady fingers. ‘You need rest.’

Maglor nods. Maedhros presses his forehead to Maglor’s forehead. ‘Do not be so afraid, little brother.’

‘We can’t save anything. Anyone.’

Maedhros kisses his forehead. ‘Are you going to greet the storm?’

‘Are you?’

Maedhros goes back to the water. Maglor watches him. Soon the air is white with snow, and he can only see Maedhros in flashes when the wind tears the storm apart. He does not go after him, but sits until he is cloaked in snow.

Maedhros throws his head back, and Maglor cannot hear it, but he knows he is screaming.


	2. Chapter 2

‘Why do you not kill us?’ Elros asks over breakfast.

Maglor cuts an egg, and the yolk spills thick and yellow over his plate. When will they stop asking?

‘You will be raised here,’ Maglor says. ‘If you wish to die, you must do it yourselves.’

Elros watches, eyes gleaming in the candlelight. The sun will not rise for three more hours.

‘Do not wish to die,’ Maglor says.

Elrond spreads butter thick on his bread. ‘I do not want to.’

‘Good. Then do not ask me.’

‘I did not ask you.’

‘Eat your breakfast.’

Elrond eats. He eats with his fingers, ripping apart bread and snatching up the winter apples. Elros eats slowly. He lifts food to his lips and does not look away from Maglor.

 

* * *

 

 

They go to their room after to read history. Maglor sits with them and waits as they read out loud, taking turns.

‘Were you alive then?’ Elrond says at each new point, and Maglor answers, ‘Yes,’ and Elrond stares.

Maglor teaches them history and music and poetry. He has tutors teach them healing and gardening and embroidery.

He will not teach them to fight. That would make them liabilities. They might be young, but he will not take that risk. Revenge is strong, and they were not young enough that they do not have memories.

‘I do not like history,’ Elros says. He turns the page of the book, and his hair falls over the pages.

‘Why not?’ Maglor says.

‘Because it is always sad. And I do not want to be sad forever.’

Maglor’s throat tightens. ‘I see.’

They go outside when the sun is rising. It lingers tired and cold along the starved horizon. Elrond watches the sea like he always watches the sea. He is still waiting, still hopeful.

Maglor walks behind them, watching them as they move slowly over the rocks along the shore. The snow is trapped in places, making mountains in caverns. The wind sweeps it, constantly disturbing it.

Elros walks a pace ahead of Elrond. He watches the sky and the water and turns around to watch his brother.

The clouds move quickly, alternating between white and a grey so deep it looks purple.

‘We take two walks every day,’ Elrond says.

‘We do,’ Elros answers.

‘We always take two walks every day.’ He turns to Maglor, hair catching on the wind, veiling his face. ‘Why do we take two walks every day?’

‘It is good for you,’ Maglor says. ‘Don’t fuss.’

Elrond does not fuss. He turns away from Maglor, and he laughs, and Maglor cannot tell why.

 

* * *

 

 

‘Did I make a mistake?’ Maglor says to Maedhros in the night when the stars hang heavy over them and not even the heavy curtains tied closed can keep out their peering eyes.

‘Yes,’ Maedhros says, voice low and rough.

‘With the children?’ Maglor says.

‘You should have killed them?’ Maedhros drinks bitter tea clotted with honey.

‘Yes. Should I have?’

‘I do not know, but you did not.’ Maedhros holds his mug against his face. ‘So that is their decision now not yours.’

‘Watching them makes me sick.’

‘Then put them out. Wait until spring and they might not die before someone finds them.’

Maglor closes his eyes. ‘I do not want their blood on my hands.’

‘Then keep them, but do not cry to me about it.’

 

* * *

 

 

‘Why do you not kill us?’ Elros says when Maglor wakes him in the morning.

‘Stop asking me questions you know the answer to.’

‘But I do not know.’

Elrond sits up, and he holds his knees to his chest. ‘Isn’t it too early?’

‘No, come now.’

 

* * *

 

 

They eat breakfast, and they study, and then Maglor takes them for a walk before he leaves them. They feed themselves when they get hungry and keep to themselves in their room. They study when a tutor comes, and go out again with Maglor for the second walk when he comes for them. And then they are alone again until supper. Sometimes they study after supper, but usually they stay alone in their room and put themselves to bed when they get tired.

And so their days go, and Maglor does not love them.

 

* * *

 

 

‘No one will come for us,’ Elros says in spring as they walk the thawing ground.

‘I know,’ Elrond says, but he still searches the sea.

Maglor keeps behind them and pretends he cannot hear them.

‘You’re a fool,’ Elros says, and Elrond cries and will not go farther. He stands on the shore, hands in fists at his side and sobs with his head bent.

He does not let either of them touch him.

Elros watches him steadily. He takes Maglor’s hand.

‘I did not mean to make him cry.’

‘Intentions mean very little,’ Maglor replies.

Elros nods. He kicks at the sand.

Maglor waits for Elrond to stop crying, and when he does, they return to their walk and none of them speak.

 

* * *

 

 

‘There is nothing endearing about them,’ Maglor tells Maedhros as he lies in bed, too weak with old pain to move.

‘Why are you obsessed with how much you hate these children? No one is making you keep them.’ Maedhros grits his teeth when he speaks. ‘I need more,’ he whispers.

Maglor takes the glass of poppy milk from the bed stand. He cradles Maedhros’s head and helps him drink it. Maedhros shudders and swallows. He closes his eyes.

Maglor strokes his hair. ‘I do not hate them.’

‘So why did you think you would love them?’

‘I do not know.’

‘They are not endearing since they have no innocence,’ Maedhros says. ‘And that is our fault. And that is why it hurts you every time you look at them. If you do not accept your guilt, you will never be able to endure it.’

Maglor hushes him. ‘Rest.’

Maedhros finishes the milk, and his eyes are heavy and lidded. Maglor stays with him.

The curtains are parted on the night, and coloured lights stretch out over the sky.

‘You should wake them,’ Maedhros murmurs. ‘They should see this. Or did I dream it again?’

‘I will wake them.’

Maglor wakes the children and guides them to their window. They mutter protests until he pulls back the curtains and opens the window wide on the cold night.

‘Beautiful, beautiful,’ Elrond says, voice hushed in awe.

Elros holds onto Elrond, eyes wide and mouth open in wonder.

‘What are they?’ Elrond says.

‘I do not know,’ Maglor answers. He watches the lights spin through the sky. ‘But they are beautiful.’

**Author's Note:**

> someone please tell me where to go with this story


End file.
